Melanie Ezell's big closet ultimate writer's challenge — Heaven's gift

A tribute (with somewhat shameless 'borrowing' from the 1978 film starring Warren Beatty), with a few inevitable changes of my own, although I've done my best to set it around the same time.

Hey, if the entire film's up there on YouTube (start off with 'Heaven Can Wait (FULL FILM)Part 1' if you're interested), I don't see why I can't get away with this.

Thanks to Puddintane for the edit.

Melanie Ezell's big closet ultimate writer's challenge — Mad Max(ine)

A broken world. A future in free-fall. A man destroyed when a savage and senseless attack tears everything of value from him and leaves him with nothing but hate and the hope of revenge.

He will do anything to gain vengeance. Anything. But will he find the answers he needs on Fury Road, or do they lie somewhere beyond?

Caution: This isn’t a particularly pleasant story. Read with care. Further caution, I am British and given to understating things.

A breakdown. A chance meeting. Two lonely people, making the best of the lives they’ve been given. Two lonely people who don’t fit well enough to find happiness. Two lonely people at odds with the world.

Perhaps this will work. Perhaps they’re crossmatched.

Melanie Ezell's big closet ultimate writer's challenge - TG or not TG

Richard just got stood up. That's the problem with Internet dating though, you don't know if there's any chemistry until you meet, and this time there evidently wasn't.

Still, it's not been a complete wast of time. A couple of tables over voices have been raised and Richard recognises an opportunity when he comes across one. Fortune favours the brave and, if he can find enough courage, this just might be worth sticking his neck out for...

MAJOR CAUTIONARY WARNING: Ultimate cliff-hanger ahead. Not for the squeamish.

“I was wondering when you were going to get round to proposing to Sharon again.”

Ok, so maybe he was right. Maybe I didn't do subtle. He was looking sheepish and evasive. Warning bells started to ringing at the back of my mind.

“Actually, I've been giving that some thought, and I'm not sure I'm going to.”

CAUTION: The ending of this chapter may be disturbing to some readers. Please exercise caution and, if in doubt, wait until the next chapter is published before reading beyond the red -oOo- divider.

Thanks to Cyclist for input regarding UK police response.

Another orderly hurried over and a doctor brandishing a syringe.

“No, I. Please no. I'm her, she's me. This isn't right. Emily why are you doing this?”

I felt a sharp stab in my arm and the last thing I saw was Mike and Emily, and even Charley, looking at me with a mixture of fear and pity. Emily, clinging to Mike's arm as if for support, allowed herself the vaguest hint of a smile then the world faded into darkness

CAUTION: This chapter contains a brief description of attempted suicide.
The light on my answerphone flashed a greeting at me as I walked through the door. Just the one message. I dumped my bags on the sofa and pressed play.

“Miss Raeburn? Doctor Marston here. Your sisters. I wonder if you could take the time to come and visit tomorrow morning. Rather urgent.”

“Miss Raeburn, this is detective inspector Chubb. I caught something of your official opening on the telly this afternoon and may I say it was a most impressive showing.”

“Thank-you detective inspector, it's kind of you to say.”

“I only tell it as I see it Miss Raeburn. Speaking of which, I was over at the institute where your, er, sisters are being treated. I spent some time chatting to the doctors responsible for their care, suggested that you might be able to help. It seems they agree. They were wondering if you might be free to visit tomorrow.”

Usually a dress fitting involves adjusting the clothes to fit the body. Usually, but not always...

Steven has discovered that it takes more than putting on a skirt to become a girl, and more than becoming a girl to become accepted. He thought he'd found a way to make his life better but it just got a lot worse. The question is does he have any friends left

Steven’s parents have agreed to him trialling living full time as a girl. Knowing the response he’s had from the other lads at school to him just being a weedy guy, this could prove to be a tough decision, unless his new friends can come through for him.

Steven just spent Friday evening out on the town with the four hottest girls in school, only he was wearing a frilly, pink dress at the time. Going back to school on Monday is going to be interesting.

“This week has been like heaven to me, right up until ten minutes ago. If you're going to chew me up and spit me out then please stop chewing and spit. I don't think I can stand another round with you.”

Oh God no. He let go of my suddenly numb fingers and walked back up the hill. A chill spread through me rooting me to the spot, fixing a horrified mask on my face. No God, no, please no.

The tears wouldn't come, they were frozen somewhere inside.

Tarquin! Who calls their child Tarquin these days? Filled with trepidation I thanked the driver who was holding my door, scooped up my immense skirts and slid inside.

Trying my hardest to mask my mixed feelings I turned to my companion and smiled in greeting.

We'd arrived. I climbed out and retrieved my new wardrobe from the back of the car. I was just about to wave Karen off when she wound down the window and leaned over
“Oh, you'll be expected to have an escort for next week. If you can't find one, let me know by Wednesday and I'll arrange something.”

“Ok, we'll have that drink, but not the movie. I have something else in mind. It'll involve a bit of walking, how are you're shoes?”

Sharon glanced down.

“They should be alright for a few miles. What do you have in mind?”

“You'll see. Text Phil, we'll need to have him along.”

The place seemed deserted and long abandoned, and I wondered if I had the address wrong. I checked the card. Nope; right road, right building. Perhaps this was some kind of a joke? Behind me there was movement on the street and I glanced over my shoulder to see a few emaciated figures emerging from dark alleys. One or two of them seemed to be taking an interest in me and I seriously did not want to hang around outside any longer. I walked up to the front door and pressed the bell, then rapped on the glass door just in case it was in a similar state of disrepair as the rest of the building.

As we stepped through the door one of a group of people handed me a sheet of and offered me a cheerful, welcoming smile. This was all so odd I was beginning to feel intimidated again. Then I looked down at the sheet.

“You have got to be kidding me.”